


Scenes [5 of 5]

by lone_lilly



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 22:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lone_lilly/pseuds/lone_lilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>five sex scenes without a plot to call home makes a story</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scenes [5 of 5]

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last one of these little PWPs of mine. I've really enjoyed getting to explore the more uninhibited side of Kate Beckett and I thank you for going on that ride with me! This one is for [](http://mammothluv.livejournal.com/profile)[**mammothluv**](http://mammothluv.livejournal.com/) who asked for Beckett spending time with the Castle family after she bid on me in the [](http://fandom-helps.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**fandom_helps**](http://fandom-helps.dreamwidth.org/) auction. I wrote her Beckett dressed as a schoolgirl, instead. Not all that sorry. (Fits the kink meme prompt "role play" [here](http://joyunconfined.livejournal.com/38124.html?thread=758252#t758252))

**Title:** Scenes [5 of 5]  
 **Author:** [](http://lone-lilly.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**lone_lilly**](http://lone-lilly.dreamwidth.org/) || [](http://onlylonelilly.livejournal.com/profile)[**onlylonelilly**](http://onlylonelilly.livejournal.com/)  
 **Fandom:** _Castle_  
 **Pairing:** Castle/Beckett  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** through S4 with only a small throwback to "Always"  
 **Summary:** five sex scenes without a plot to call home makes a story  
 **Notes:** This is the last one of these little PWPs of mine. I've really enjoyed getting to explore the more uninhibited side of Kate Beckett and I thank you for going on that ride with me! This one is for [](http://mammothluv.livejournal.com/profile)[**mammothluv**](http://mammothluv.livejournal.com/) who asked for Beckett spending time with the Castle family after she bid on me in the [](http://fandom-helps.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**fandom_helps**](http://fandom-helps.dreamwidth.org/) auction. I wrote her Beckett dressed as a schoolgirl, instead. Not all that sorry. (Fits the kink meme prompt "role play" [here](http://joyunconfined.livejournal.com/38124.html?thread=758252#t758252))

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

V.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
_Tell me all the things you want to do. I heard that you like the bad girls, honey, is that true?_   


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sting went down in a matter of minutes.

One moment she was sitting in his lap in the most ridiculous outfit he's ever seen her in and his hand was under her skirt, massaging her thigh because she _told_ him to do that (seriously, that was the best part), and they were pretending to watch the show (well, he actually was watching it a little bit) and the next moment she was flying across the room, her gun in hand (he's not even sure where she'd hidden that) and suddenly there was chaos everywhere. Bullets ricocheted off the wall, people scattered and he didn't even have time to _think_. He just chased after her chasing after their suspect, catching glimpses of her red plaid skirt between the semi-naked bodies scrambling for cover until she managed to tackle the perp in the _bondage_ room, of all places, taking him down and cuffing him to a St. Andrew's cross before the two women using it could even clear the area. And she did it with all the grace and ease she does everything, like she did this kind of thing every day, like she's some sort of superhero. Which, in a way, he thinks she sort of is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He spends the next half hour, sitting at the juice bar watching her do her thing, shooting down Ryan and Espo's jabs about her outfit (as if that sass doesn't make the schoolgirl thing that much hotter) while they inventory the damage and take witness statements. She's kind of insanely hot like this and the best part is it has nothing to do with the mini skirt and white button down she has tied around her midriff (or the braid or the knee socks or the hint of her hot pink bra peeking out between too many undone buttons). Okay, that's definitely a part of it, but really, he just likes watching her work, the way she owns the room, the way she's not the least bit self-conscious even though she's dressed like a porn starlet (and God, he would buy every single one of her videos. Seriously). This is everything that drew him to her in the first place, what inspires him every day, what makes him fall in love with her again and again.

She's just a walking wet dream even when they _aren't_ in a fetish club and it's not his fault he can't stop _staring_ at her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She's pissed. He doesn't know why but she's quiet on the way back to the station, won't even look at him, and her body is radiating a tension he hasn't felt from her in months. Years, maybe.

She storms into the precinct with him in tow,and he watches with no small amount of pride as the few people milling around their floor very carefully do _not_ look down at the white knee socks and cute little tennis shoes peeking out from her no-nonsense trench coat. It's just the power of Beckett, the one that refuses to be fucked with, and he has no idea what he did right in a previous life to end up with her in this one, but he's pretty damn grateful he didn't fuck that up.

"I'm going to change," she announces crossly, barely sparing Ryan a glance as she passes by his desk on her way to the stairs. "Get McCormack in the box. I'll be down in a few."

"Yes, Boss," Ryan agrees a little too amiably and Castle sees the way his head tilts to the side as he watches her start up the stairs, her hips swaying invitingly underneath her coat. They both remember how short her skirt is underneath and he smacks the other man in the back of the head in warning.

"Sorry," Ryan mumbles, not sounding all that apologetic as he quickly looks back down at the file on his desk, shuffling papers unnecessarily.

"Better be," he growls menacingly (he's been practicing that; it does sound a little like his zombie impression, but he think it gets his message across). "She's mine."

"Castle," Beckett interrupts them sharply before Ryan can do more than smirk, making them both jump guiltily as they glance back up at her. "I need to talk to you. Now."

Well, shit. What did _he_ do? He tries to think of what he could have done to piss her off but he doesn't come up with anything out of the ordinary. He's pretty sure he's been his usually charming self tonight. She loves _that_. Okay, whatever, she tolerates that, but it works. It's been working. She hasn't chewed him out in ages.

"Glad she's yours," Ryan mutters under his breath and so he slaps him again, just for the hell of it, following his girlfriend up the stairs to the gym on the next floor and what he hopes is _not_ his impending death.

"What's up?" he asks as nonchalantly as he can (he's pretty proud of the way his voice doesn't shake) as she shoves the locker room door open. He has to bolt an arm out to keep it from slamming in his face and then he kind of wishes he had let it after all when she spins around on her heel to glare at him.

Crap.

"YOU," she hisses, advancing, so he takes a step back, then another until she has him against the door, her finger jabbing into his sternum with every word. "You do not get to _look_ at me like that when I'm trying to do my job."

"Ow," he grumbles, pushing her hand out of the way so he can rub his chest where he's certain she's left him a bruise. She's such a bully. And he's not purposely being obtuse but he doesn't have any idea what she's talking about, not really (even though he's found the best defense with her is to always deny understanding anyway until he can figure out what's really got her worked up). "Look at you like _what_?"

She scowls and crosses her arms over her chest, still too close (but not close enough), and her eyes blaze with accusation. "Like you want to eat me alive."

... _Ooh._ Okay.

He gets it now. Why she's pissed like a hellcat at him when she should be floating on all the little feel-good endorphins of wrangling a suspect like she'd normally be. Guess he wasn't the only one getting a little hot under the hood at the club, so to speak.

He exhales a relieved breath and then reaches for the belt of her coat, hooking his finger in the knot to pull her into him. He drops his gaze to her chest as he tugs on the sash, watching the lapels fall open and reveal the trembling line of her cleavage, still a little sweaty from where she'd been running earlier, making him lick his lips. Classical conditioning. She's a rung bell and he's an instantly hungry dog.

"Oh," he smirks then, glancing back up to her face. Yeah, she's mad but he's pretty sure he knows how to defuse her. "But I do."

He half-expects her to punch him from the look on her face, but then she's on him, one hand slamming against the door as the other fists in his hair, her mouth fusing to his in a devastating clash of teeth and hot tongue. He pushes her coat out of his way, his fingernails raking over the bare skin of her ridiculously toned stomach as she throws the trench to the floor behind them, making her groan until she sucks on his tongue in retaliation. He uses her distraction to flip them until he has her pinned to the door instead, her body heaving against his as he shoves his thigh between her own, up against the heat radiating from her center, making her melt, cling, grind.

"Tell me," she gasps, teeth grazing his neck, his ear. She's a biter, his little vampire, marking him, claiming him, and he's never been so happy to be consumed.

"What?" he growls, smoothing his hand up her thigh, over the satin of her panties, cupping her ass roughly, greedily. Her underwear is white with a little lace around the thighs; he saw them when she dove onto McCormack earlier (the lucky bastard) , the pleats of her skirt flashing a quick glimpse of her remarkable ass, and he just wants to thank her, award her, celebrate her, build her a fucking _float_ for being so damn committed to her job and making sure her outfit was absolutely perfect because, God _damn_ , he couldn't have dressed her better if she'd let him. He's willing to tell her anything. Everything. Whatever she wants as long as she keeps letting him put his hands on her.

"Tell me what you want," she begs, her eyes flashing with a smirk that doesn't quite make it to her mouth as her hand finds him through his slacks, molding her fingers around the hard bulge, thumbing the sensitive head through too many fucking layers of fabric. "I'll do it, Mr. Castle. Anything you want. Just tell me what I have to do to pass your class."

He nearly chokes on his own moan, the soft, pleading of her voice making him rock into her hand as he licks a wet trail over clavicle, her chest, directly to her nipple, teething her through the lace so she arches against his face.

 _Mr. Castle?_ Jesus Christ. Where the fuck did this woman even _come_ from? He's pretty sure he has died and gone to pornographic heaven and so he pinches her ass, testing out his own corporeality as she digs the fingers of the hand not currently rubbing him off through his suit into his scalp.

His eyes flick to hers, not at all surprised to find her staring at him with that sleepy, hooded gaze of hers and her too-alert eyes nearly emerald with arousal. He pushes away from her a little bit, so he can see her, see all of her, her wrinkled costume, skirt hiked up against the door, button down shirt askew on her chest from where he'd pushed it out of the way to get at her. Her face is flushed, cheeks pink and glowing in spite of the complete lack of make-up on her face and that fiercely bold no-fucks-given woman he was lusting after just minutes ago still somehow manages to pull off the not-so-innocent college co-ed to a T.

She is glorious. And gloriously his.

"Touch yourself for me, Kate," he tells her, because he thinks he wants that most of all, to see her little pale hand slip between her thighs and make herself quiver. "Like you do back in your dorm room. When you think of me. I want to see."

She makes this insanely hot noise, all frustrated whimper as she does exactly what he says, biting her lip as her hands abandon him to move her skirt aside, fingers sneaking underneath the hem of her panties (there's a tiny pink bow on the top that he's pretty sure is going to be the death of him) and he watches as she curls them downward, parting herself, teasing before slipping inside.

"Like this?"

Oh, yeah. "Yeah. Just like that."

He tucks the skirt into its own waistband, making it easier to see the movement of her hand, hear the slick slide of her fingers inside her sex. "Are you wet for me?"

"Mm, God, yes," she moans, her eyes finally closing as her head falls back on the door. Her foot finds a hold on the bench beside them, opening her up even more to his view, her furious touch. She already has herself close to her undoing, he can tell just by the frenzied way she's riding her hand, the way her breath is hitching into tiny keening noises that hardly sound human. "Tell me what you wanted to do to me. At the club. What were you thinking?"

He has to think for a second, just a quick one because he was imagining more along the lines of what a Nikki Heat graphic novel might look like, with his gorgeous, superhero girlfriend leaping across the page in the moment of battle. But he knows that's not the sort of thing she wants to hear, not right now (he will however be picking up that discussion with Black Pawn soon), so he comes up with the next best thing.

"I wanted it to be you on that stage," he murmurs, pushing aside the messy, loose strand of her braid so he can kiss her neck. He palms her breast too, the perfect slender weight of her filling his hand before he squeezes the hard nipple straining against the lace, feels her whole body tense at the sensation. "On your knees, clawing at the floor as I fucked you from behind. Not even caring that people were watching."

"Shit," she cries out and that's it, he knows he's wrecked her just from the way she suddenly slams her head against the door, her orgasm snapping through her so hard he's actually a little concerned that she might bite right through her tongue (she'd probably kill him straight up for that). He keeps her upright with his own body, mouth still tasting the hot skin of her neck as she jerks against him and it seems to him that she comes forever, minutes passing in the span of seconds until she finally sags back against the door, exhausted and panting.

"I hate you," she sighs blissfully, eyes still closed as she nuzzles into his shoulder like a warm, little kitten.

He tongues her ear, inhales the cloying scent of sweat and shampoo in her hair. "I'd believe you more if your thighs weren't wet with your own come."

"Castle, shut up." She cracks an eye open to glare at him, and he laughs, yelping when her hand suddenly closes over his still raging erection, squeezing just a bit harder than she needs to make her point.

"Oh, it's just Castle now?" he leers, pushing himself harder into her hand. "What happened to Mr. Castle?"

"So. Much. Hate," she promises but then she sinks to her knees and unzips his pants, and he's pretty certain she doesn't really mean it.

 

 

 

 

(No one says a word when they finally join their suspect in the interrogation box. No one says a word very loudly.)


End file.
